


desert flower

by CallToMuster



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gen, Jedi Culture Respected, Jedi Temple, Missing Scene, Obi-Wan the Desert Hermit, Plants, Post-Order 66, Tatooine (Star Wars), The Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25695031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallToMuster/pseuds/CallToMuster
Summary: As far as Obi-Wan was aware, nothing grew on Tatooine.{Or, Obi-Wan finds salvation in the desert.}
Comments: 19
Kudos: 68





	desert flower

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Eternal Spring](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22709326) by [tessiete](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessiete/pseuds/tessiete). 



> This fic was semi-inspired by tessiete's The Eternal Spring, which is a great post-Order 66 desert fic. Of course, Padmé isn't with Obi-Wan here, so it's up to the Force to get him out of his funk.
> 
> This was written in one sitting and posted with minimal editing, so be warned.

Nothing grew on Tatooine. 

Or if it did, Obi-Wan could not tell. Logically he knew that there must be life on Tatooine, but he could not find it. 

Or recreate it, for that matter. On his third supply run to Mos Espa (not his first, his first was reserved for essentials, and his second was reserved for all the things he hadn’t realized he would need, but his third he figured he could indulge himself just a tiny bit) he bought a pack of “seeds” from the local market. It didn’t take him long to realize why there had been a dry undercurrent of wily amusement in the Force from the Siniteen he’d bought them from. After spending two fruitless weeks carefully nurturing the spots he’d planted them in, wasting his ever-so-precious water, he was forced to admit defeat. 

Growing up, Obi-Wan hadn’t really liked plants very much. With his rather middling connection to the Living Force, he didn’t feel the same invigorating joy many of his fellow Jedi did at being surrounded by nature. And his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, seemed to take a perverse amount of joy at covering every single surface in their shared quarters with plants he had picked up on their travels, to the point where Obi-Wan was sometimes forced to eat dinner or do his classwork on the couch because the desks and tables were already teeming with Corellian daisies or Yavinese tea bushes. That had annoyed Obi-Wan to no end. Were it not for the almost unhealthy respect he had for his Master, and the ever-present fear of rejection that haunted him throughout his adolescence, some of those plants probably would have “accidentally” made their way into the trash.

But when Qui-Gon returned to the Force, Obi-Wan couldn’t bear to get rid of anything. And for his part, Anakin, who had spent his whole life up until that point on a desolate desert planet, was utterly fascinated by all the greenery. (“Wizard!” he’d proclaimed upon first seeing all the plants, using that favorite exclamation of his that was so ubiquitous in his childhood speech.) So the plants stayed, and just as Anakin effortlessly wormed his way into the spot closest to Obi-Wan’s heart, so too did plants begin to mean something to Obi-Wan. The Room of a Thousand Fountains became his favorite spot in the Temple. Before, he had always felt rather unnerved by the sheer vastness and wild nature of the Room. It felt untameable, filled with all of those living things. Now though, when he meditated, he drew on their quiet strength. Plants did not judge. Plants did not worry. They simply were. 

And if sometimes, just sometimes, Obi-Wan could swear he could feel Qui-Gon’s presence amongst the hardy fern fronds and soft flower petals, he never told a soul. 

That was all gone now. The Temple was abandoned, a remnant of a time passed. But Obi-Wan did not want to dwell on such things. Even nearing sunset, it was far too hot for such dreary thoughts, in Obi-Wan’s opinion. 

He was walking alone in the Jundland Wastes. He was always alone now, save for the banthas and Tusken Raiders. Occasionally Obi-Wan thought he spotted a small bit of shrubbery before realizing it had either died long ago or was just some trick of the light. 

He had not been on Tatooine long enough to recognize the signs of a coming sandstorm himself, but the bantha herd he frequently followed clearly did. They’d all bunkered up in a deep cave, bleating and huddling close to their young. Obi-Wan had almost joined them, before recognizing that they did not quite trust him enough yet to keep him so close in a vulnerable time, and besides he did have a homestead of his own that was supposed to be useful for this sort of thing.

Judging by the winds picking up around him, perhaps he’d come to this conclusion a little late. Obi-Wan tightened the scarf he had wrapped around most of his face and pulled the hood of his robe down over his forehead. Sand began swirling around him, and soon he could not open his eyelids without feeling the stinging grit of the grains. Luckily, he could feel that his homestead wasn’t too far off. The kyber crystals of the lightsabers he kept there were calling to him in the same mournful song they always were. He had no use for lightsabers anymore, not in the way he used to use them, but they could be a helpful navigation tool.

Still, even with the knowledge that shelter was relatively near, it was a struggle. Sandstorms on Tatooine were nothing to be trifled with, as Beru had beat him over the head with before sending him on his way. To hear her describe it, half the sand on Tatooine rose into the air and spiraled through the air at devastatingly fast speeds. Obi-Wan had faith that he would live, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be extremely unpleasant. Perhaps he should have listened to the banthas sooner. After all, it made sense they wouldn’t want him with them. Hells, _Obi-Wan_ didn’t want himself either. 

No sooner had he thought this than he had fallen flat on his face. _What the…?_ His foot was caught in something, but he couldn’t tell what. After a few fruitless tugs, he reached down and back with his hand to feel around his ankle. Whatever it was felt tough and thin and bumpy in parts, but not uniformly so. He followed the thin rope-like object back down further and further, trying to find its origin. Eventually, his fingers reached something different, something more central and textured. But for the life of him, Obi-Wan couldn’t tell what it was. Whatever it was, it wasn’t coming easily off from around his boot, so he flicked open his pocket knife and cut himself loose. 

It didn’t take him too much longer to reach the dwelling he had made his new home. Once inside, he carefully brushed off the sand from his robe. Obi-Wan ended up having to shake his head like an akk-dog to get all the sand from out of his hair and beard, which was mostly successful, though he still felt a little gritty. He was just lining up his boots by the door when something caught his eye. There was something stuck in the laces, something off-white and veiny. He plucked it up and held it in front of him, staring. This must be whatever tripped him back in the Wastes. A small, muted sense of satisfaction rippled through him when he noticed the jagged cut edge. 

Obi-Wan was about to put it in his small trash receptacle to be disposed of later when the Force keened. Startled, Obi-Wan dropped the thing. There on the ground, against the tan of his floor, it almost looked like a… 

Root.

Adrenaline humming through him now, Obi-Wan knelt and stared at it again, rolling it between his fingers and stretching out his senses. There was an echo of life in the object in his hand, like a stain that has been mostly washed away, leaving only the faintest impression behind. He stared at it, dumbfounded. So there was life on Tatooine after all. 

The sandstorm could not pass quickly enough. Obi-Wan paced the length of his hut, twisting the root between his fingers until he was forced to set it down for fear he might break it. The wind howled outside for hours and hours, until he was sure it would never end. 

And then, just as quickly as it started, the sandstorm stopped. Almost instantly after, Obi-Wan was rushing out the door again, heading in search of the spot he had been in. He retraced his steps as best he could, walking the path from the Wastes proper to his home in the cliffs. But there was nothing in view but sand, endless sand. It glittered and mocked him. The suns were almost fully down now, casting an orange glow over everything. 

Obi-Wan’s chest heaved. Where were they?

He used the Force to enhance his eyesight. There, in the distance! Something poking out of the ground. Obi-Wan rushed to the spot. Yes, it seemed to be identical to the root in his hand!

He brushed around the spot, following the root deeper and deeper, digging and digging until he was sure he would never get this much sand out from underneath his fingernails, but still he dug. And there was something waiting for him deep below the surface. Could it be?

Acting almost unconsciously, Obi-Wan stood up and closed his eyes. The Force converged around him, swirling like the sands had been not an hour ago. He slowly raised his arms, shaking from the exertion. When the Force signaled to him to do so, he stopped and opened his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was the giant mass of sand he had hanging suspended in the air, not a grain falling from where he had placed it. The second thing he noticed was that all across the desert plains where he had plucked the sand from the ground, there were flowers. 

Obi-Wan sank to his knees, hands still raised above his head like he was surrendering to the Force. _Flowers._ Soft, purple _flowers._ They were scraggly and dirty and wiry but they were _plants_ and they were _alive._ The sunset lit them aflame, like the sheer energy they represented was too much for the mortal plane. 

He did not know how long he sat there, staring at the life teeming before him, before his arms gave out and sand once again crashed down to cover the plants. Just like that, it was like they had never been there at all. 

These plants had almost nothing, nothing at all, and yet here they were by the multitudes, waiting for the sandstorms to expose them before being hidden again. 

Obi-Wan’s thoughts turned inexplicably to his old and most treasured home. There was no one to water the plants now in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Those plants had been there for a very long time, a millenia in some cases, and were infused with such loving Light that they brought peace to all who visited. Obi-Wan did not take more than a single step into one of the ancillary gardens while visiting the Temple with Master Yoda in the aftermath of the fall of the Republic, had found it too painful to see scorch marks in the leaves and the blood of younglings and elders mixing with the damp earth to even think about setting foot in the Room itself. But now no one ever would again, and those plants would all wither and die just as the Jedi had, except where the Jedi’s death had been swift and unsuspecting like the ground suddenly going out beneath one’s feet, the plants’ deaths would be slow and torturous. Their roots would hunt deeper and deeper into the ground, leeching all remaining moisture from the dirt, until one day there was not a single drop of sustenance left and they would finally keel over and crumble into brown dust. 

Obi-Wan had not teared up since that scorching day on Mustafar when everything and everyone he ever loved had died, but there, sitting in the hot sand beneath Tatooine’s two suns, he cried. Those plants were gone now. But there were plants beneath his feet now too.

These Tatooinian flowers had almost nothing, had to be kept hidden save for the most wild of circumstances, had barely enough water to sustain them, but they continued to survive. They _endured._

Obi-Wan took a deep, shuddering breath. He felt as weak as a newborn, thrust suddenly into a new life. He opened himself to the Force and saw the great and terrible wildness that encompassed everything. There, in this moment where Obi-Wan was the most alone he had ever been, he felt the closest to the Force. 

There was growth. There was beauty. There was life. There was hope. Obi-Wan just had to be patient enough to find it.

**Author's Note:**

> *me, singing* iiiiiiiiiiit's a metaphor!
> 
> [This is what I imagine the flowers look like.](https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/7b/ed/06/in-spring-there-are-even.jpg)
> 
> Thank you for reading! I recently posted another Star Wars fic all about why Obi-Wan hates getting medical treatment, told from Ahsoka's POV, and I encourage anyone who wishes to to check it out!
> 
> {Come talk with me on my [Tumblr](https://calltomuster.tumblr.com)!}


End file.
